Aim and Miss
by InformalSpoofer
Summary: He’s never made an invitation like this to Rorschach before, but suddenly the thought of his partner spending the rest of the night alone is the only thing on his mind. Nite Owl/Rorschach.


Aim and Miss

It's probably a bad idea, but the clean slate of snow is begging to be put to use and Dan is elated by the way the night has turned. The snow is wet and compacts easily in his hands. Rorschach's only warning is his laugh, but it's enough: Rorschach turns back in time to see Dan's drawn arm, but not in time to dodge the snowball. It breaks against his face and he goes very, very still.

Daniel stops laughing.

"Um," he says. Snow tumbles down Rorschach's chest. The inkblots are almost nonexistent, black droplets quivering at the edges of the mask. Daniel forces out a chuckle, trying desperately to ease the inexplicable tension that's erupted between them. Rorschach's hands are in fists and his fists are trembling. "Come on, it was just a snowball. It's almost Christmas, Rorschach, can't you ease up a little?"

Rorschach turns his head away and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"What, have you never had a snowball fight?" Dan asks, exasperated in spite of himself.

The words are laced with sarcasm, but when Rorschach turns his face back to him he simply says, "No."

Before Daniel can process the full implications, Rorschach turns and continues trudging down the alley. There are drifts feet high against the walls, making the trashcan's lids look like strange flowers blooming despite the weather. Rorschach leaves long trails behind him and his shoulders are set high.

"Hey," Dan says, and his voice is much softer than he means. "Hey!" He runs to catch up to Rorschach and claps a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he fumbles, not sure what he's apologizing for but feeling obligated to nonetheless. "Look," and Rorschach turns his face to him, then, "it's dead out tonight. Let's just go back."

"To the Owl's Nest?" Rorschach's shoulder relaxes under Daniel's hand; it's slow, but in that moment Dan recognizes it for what it is (even in his anger Rorschach trusts him). "Why?"

"We. Well," Daniel pulls his hand away and wrings his hands, once. "I could make us some coffee. You could warm up a bit, y'know. Before going home." He's never made an invitation like this to Rorschach before, but suddenly the thought of his partner spending the rest of the night alone is the only thing on his mind.

"That." The blotches spread dark over Rorschach's face and he adjusts his fedora smartly. "I don't know that I'd be comfortable in your _house_, Nite Owl."

"Don't be silly," Dan says, amused. Rorschach, _uncomfortable?_ "You've been _under_ it plenty of times. Come on. Just a cup of joe to warm you up."

Rorschach is quiet for a long minute, tapping his hands against his thighs, hands in pockets. The soft jingle of metal is the only sound until Rorschach turns fully to Dan and grunts his agreement.

-

Nite Owl's kitchen is exactly how a kitchen should be, Rorschach decides, squinting against the abrupt brightness of the kitchen light. He says as much, which amuses Nite Owl and makes him fumble with the coffee pot. Nite Owl always takes compliments poorly, staggering and giddy when he receives one.

It takes Rorschach until the coffeepot is three-fourths of the way full to decide if he wants to take off his gloves, like Nite Owl suggests. When he does, he keeps his fingers curled into fists and under the table, rubbing them against his thighs to warm them up. When Nite Owl pours the coffee he's beaming, talking lightly about the various items in his kitchen. Walter soon learns more about the clock over Nite Owl's stove than he knows about Nite Owl, in terms of a life-story. That suits Rorschach just fine. Nite Owl doesn't expect a story about Walter in return.

When Nite Owl moves to the table and holds out the mug, Walter holds his breath and lunges his hand out, grazing it across Nite Owl's bare fingers. When Nite Owl pulls (practically jerks, Rorschach notes) back, the mug is hotter than he expected; hissing, he drops it.

The mug hits the table with a sickening crack and knocks over, spilling coffee over the tabletop; Rorschach leaps to his feet fast enough to avoid getting splashed, but in the process knocks over a chair which screams against the linoleum. Walter feels his face heat with shame as Nite Owl moves into action, pulling a towel off the stove's handle and mopping up the table as he asks if Rorschach is all right.

Walter stiffly rights the chair. He can't believe he's been so stupid. Now Nite Owl is going to shut him out for ruining his kitchen, for staining his floor and probably breaking his mug, and Walter's only consolation is that he at least won't _hit_ him, he's a good man. (He had no way of knowing about the boys who threw snowballs in the dead of winter, jeering after him, unharmed only because he hadn't reached his breaking point yet and the snow didn't actually _hurt._)

Rorschach is pulling on his gloves and opening the door to the Owl's Nest when he realizes that Nite Owl doesn't sound angry when he asks, "Where are you going?"

"Made a mistake," Walter grits out stiffly. He doesn't know why his sentences cut themselves except that it's easier that way. "Shouldn't have come."

"What? Oh, come on, man, don't go. It's not a big deal. Here, I'll just pour you another cup. You didn't burn yourself, did you?" he asks, and he's wringing the towel out over the sink but his face is turned to Rorschach, frowning the way he does when Rorschach makes a mistake and a criminal gets in a particularly good hit.

Walter lifts his hands. His fingers are tingling under the leather, but he shakes his head. Nite Owl lets out a breath of air and pulls down another mug from a cupboard, setting the one Walter dropped by the sink without looking it over. He fills it and sets it down on the table, turning the handle towards the chair Walter had originally sat in. "That was my fault," he adds when he looks up, though Walter knows for a fact that it wasn't. "Your hands - well." His face colors a little. "I thought I saw freckles," he mumbles, adjusting his goggles and sliding into his seat. "It surprised me."

Walter feels heat prickle the back of his neck and ears and he just stands there, staring. Nite Owl opens a jar on the table and extracts two sugar cubes; he holds them over his coffee a second and glances up at Rorschach. "You can have as many of these as you like," he adds, smiling as he drops them in the coffee with a soft _plunk._ "I know you like them. Mine aren't individually wrapped like yours, but…" He trails off with a shrug.

When Walter doesn't move, his smile falters. They stare for a second at each other, then Nite Owl stuffs his hand in the jar and pulls out a handful, holding them out to Walter. One drops to the floor.

Tentative, Walter pulls off a glove and moves back to the table. He catches Nite Owl's wrist, pressing his thumb against the pulse. He feels it, there, a soft continuity under the tense muscles. "Nite Owl," he murmurs instead of the _thank you_ that he wants, and moves his grip up. He takes the cubes out of Nite Owl's hand and holds them. Just holds. He can feel the sugar melting in his palm.

Nite Owl's mouth is slightly open and Walter waits for him to say something, to act. When he does, it's just to turn to the table and pick up his coffee; he sips it and clears his throat. He hasn't stirred in the sugar.

Walter sits and holds his hand open over his coffee. The sugar tumbles in. He wants to lick the melted grains off his hand, but there is an unfamiliar feeling in his chest that stops him; instead he nudges up his mask over his mouth. Keeping his eyes down, he picks up the mug with a sticky hand and takes a sip.


End file.
